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Positive Type: The Plots of a Verified Patient | Israel today


The omicron caught me too, which changed my life from end to end (with full board). It did not last long

Like half a country, I too got the virus.

I, too, shut myself in for a week at home, and I too had plenty of time to jump to all sorts of conclusions.

First, it is no longer as embarrassing as it used to be.

In the early days of the plague, when the corona was young and beautiful, the person who fell ill was portrayed as a yoke-breaker kissing bats, or at least visiting the Red Pirate network excessively often.

Today, after the whole world and his vaccinated wife have been verified, it is already a cross-audience mainstream disease, addressing the whole family.

Second, there is no Corona law as the flu law of yesteryear.

In the past, the severity of your situation was determined by the amount of PR you did to your level of misery.

When we felt unwell, we were expected to continue to function and drag it out for a few days, before announcing fortification.

We continued to function at work while occasionally sneezing at friends and colleagues, without making a fuss about it.

On the other hand, when we declared ourselves finished, in bed grade and above, we would get release from walking to work and housework.

Women, by the way, continued to function even with a level of illness where the men already decide to be hospitalized in intensive care and check quotes from a burial society.

In short, as Israelis like, the business was conducted without clear rules, and everyone improvised for himself the nature of the disease that came to him.

The Omicron, unlike the previous Caravan neighborhood, changed the rules of the game.

There are positives or negatives, with nothing in between.

One minute after you receive a positive answer on the PCR test, you receive a phone call from your GP at the HMO, who does not recommend grandma medication but gives an explicit instruction to stay in a closed room, including an exact departure date.

The first dilemma of the deceivers is whether to be tested at all.

After all, if you do not know that you are sick, no one will know, and you will remain a free person.

Just stay home until it passes without infecting anyone, but also without the Ministry of Health and Police sitting on your head, which is a bit painful anyway.

I, on the other hand, chose to be tested using a fleet of markers.

During the week I joined the Corona Customer Club I kept a sick diary, and here it is.

The first days

For several days now I have been coughing a dry and annoying cough, having trouble sleeping at night and my nose is dripping like a faucet without a rubber band.

The three home antigen tests I did, from three different companies, just in case and not to deprive any manufacturer that made millions from selling pieces of plastic with paper, showed nothing.

In the fourth, two stripes have already appeared.

I was probably absorbed.

In the evening we went - the girl, the first lady and I - to a testing facility, to understand what our situation was in the battle against the virus.

Only I, with the fourth vaccine, received an answer that I was positive.

I said goodbye to the girls with a wave of my hands, as if I was going to fight on the Russian front in World War II.

I went into our bedroom, and annexed the bathroom to myself as well.

I had to survive in difficult conditions - the oven was working at full power, the TV on any station I wanted, the cell phone next to me charging, and my laptop.

I started getting room service from the house girls at the Genesis Hotel level.

The service did not include bed linen, so that the girls would not be infected by the family leper, but in terms of the food and beverage department, the place operated in a full board format, including snacks that were left for me outside the suite door.

Inside, I allowed myself to throw away clothes and socks, knowing that no one would come in and remark to me that the place looked like a national waste site.

Every few hours they prepared and served me a sumptuous meal, including coffee, tea, snacks, vitamins, candies to relieve a dry cough, soups like a king and a tissue like a king's nose.

At the end of the meal I left the dirty dishes out the door, knowing that the family maids would evacuate them like in a hotel.

Some friends came to the door with homemade dishes, and others sent me ice cream deliveries with a courier.

Tachles, I feel that the disease has reached me in a timely and timely manner, in which it is terribly cold outside, so that in any case I do not lose anything but fulfill the dream of every normal citizen: to curl up in bed without interruption.

The disease is mild, life is beautiful, but of course I keep this information to myself and do not share it with the pampered housewives.

I do not complain or make sounds of a dead patient, as usual, but my authentic cough, which is also heard outside the door, does the job.

I hope they will notice that I am no longer the diameter I used to be.

Plans for the coming week have been canceled, the diary is empty, no work, no commitments, no transportation, no face mask, no grocery list, no dishwasher, and everything is sponsored by law and medicine.

The highlight of my day is the shower. Because no one is standing on my head, I decided to stretch the event a little more than usual, and as befits a hotel tenant, I turn it into something close to spending time at the spa. I let the hot water flow for 40 minutes on high heat. There is a situation where there is no water left for others, but why would a patient with certificates like me consider all sorts of unverified? Officially, I explained to them that the heat of the water was meant to let the cough come out. Of course no one in the house told me anything, so as not to bother a man in his sickbed with trifles like hot water.

I do not shave, and the thought of being here alone for a week without criticism brings up a creative idea in me.

If I grow a shapely beard now, I can finally know if I have grown a white Norwegian sailor beard or not.

I have enough time to check it out on my own, without interjections and baguette threats.

The time I have in abundance allows me to shave and draw the boundaries of the new beard at the level of the individual hair.

I also do not put deodorant, to allow a few days rest for the armpit.

No physical exertion is expected, so sweating is not expected.

And even if it does, the isolation ensures that no one will suffer from it.

I have some muscle aches, but it's not clear if it's from the disease or lying motionless in front of Netflix binges.

Since this week we have mainly discussed Netanyahu's plea bargain and I have about 15 hours of viewing each day, I know what everyone said about the settlement and how he feels about the issue of disgrace, and probably know even more about the issue than Mandelblit.

From watching the various channels continuously, I learned that our television is one long panel, which starts in the morning and ends at midnight, and that due to the absence of regular presenters, Liron Zaid sits in all the panels.

Thanks to the corona, I also broadened my horizons, after watching documentaries about Rabbi Shalom Shabazi, Arik Sharon, and the social life of chimpanzees in Africa.

Tuesday for isolation

And sometimes, the celebration ends.

After three days of pampering isolation I feel much better, and the service providers have started to revolt.

I feel a looseness in serving meals and the level of service, like someone who moved in the dead of night from a Genesis hotel to a youth hostel in India.

With or without regard to the uprising, the first lady and my young daughter decided that due to severe coughing, they would do a re-examination.

It turned out that they too were infected.

A room door opened in a rudeness reminiscent of war movies from time immemorial about nations conquered by a barbaric enemy.

They entered the room with shouts of "Come on, come on," which clarified the reversal of roles in the employee-employer relationship that took place in the home.

If everyone is sick, there is no point in isolating, and I no longer have any privilege.

My heyday as the only verified in the house came to an end.

And since I am the veteran patient, who is already on the way out, I have become a sheikh receiving services to a laundress, chef, pharmacist, nurse and piccolo.

I moved between making tea, setting up meals and serving medicine.

After a week

My isolation is over.

The girls of the house still have two stripes, so now I can provide them with services as an external courier as well.

After visiting the writer I felt like I was back from a stretcher trip.

It's not clear if this is a phenomenon known as post corona, or I was just addicted to idleness.

I am currently a verified idler, a syndrome also known as weight 19.

Were we wrong?


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Source: israelhayom

All news articles on 2022-01-27

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